Nearly Departed in Deadwood (38 page)

      I slammed the door, turning the skeleton key in the lock just as the knob twisted in my blood-slick palm. I held my breath and stared down at the key. A loud thump on the door sent me screaming backwards onto the queen-sized bed.

      “Violet,” Wolfgang’s muffled voice crooned through the wood. “Open the door, darling.”

      Searching the room, I hunted for something ... anything ... to use as a weapon.

      The knob rattled. “Come on, Violet. The fire’s getting hotter.”

      I grabbed the picture of his mother off the dresser, the glass still broken, and hefted the brass frame in my hands.

      A volley of bangs rumbled as Wolfgang hammered on the wood. My heart mirrored the tempo.

      “Open the goddamned door!”

      “Fuck you!” I yelled back, my voice rusty, but steady.

      “Fine. We’ll play it your way.”

      Silence followed. I ran to the door and pressed my ear to the wood, cool against my face. A door slammed, followed by the retreating stomp of Wolfgang’s shoes on the stairs.

      Where was he going? Then I remembered the drawer full of keys in the kitchen.
Oh, God!

      My wrists stinging, I wiped my blood-covered palms on my dress and leaned against the door. I had to think, think, think.

      My gaze landed on the window across the room. I ran over and tore open the curtains. Boards covered most of the glass, just like in the violet room. I tugged on the boards, none budged.

      “Damn it!”

      Maybe there was something in the closet. I yanked open the door. The smell of bay rum was strong in the small space. Drab-colored dresses swayed on their hangers, shoes my grandma would’ve loved lined the floor. The purses stacked on the upper shelf were my only weapon choices.

      I needed more time.

      Racing across the floor, I tapped the knob with my fingertips—the metal was still cool. I squashed my ear once more against the wood and heard only muted crackles and pops. After a peek under the door for Wolfgang’s feet, I turned the key and inched it open.

      The hall was empty, except for the roasted chicken that the psycho had abandoned on the hallway floor.

      I stepped out, shut the door quietly, and then locked it, pocketing the key. Wolfgang had enclosed the fire in the tea-party room, but it wouldn’t stay caged for long. Black smoke already seeped out the seams around the wood panel and eddied near the ceiling.

      To mask which room I was in, I closed the bathroom door, too, and tried the key in the lock. It worked. I crept forward, hesitating at the top of the stairs, listening, staring down at the front door. I tested my foot on the first step down, but Wolfgang’s approaching footfalls locked my knees.
Fuck!

      Heat radiated out from under the tea party room’s door, stinging my bare feet as I tiptoed past. I slipped inside the doorway of the third bedroom—Wolfgang’s room.

      His footfalls crested the stairs. “Come out, come out wherever you are,” he taunted. He’d unlock the door and find his mother’s room empty. Then it would be a game of hide-and-seek.

      A loud groan echoed from the violet-walled room, then a
boom
and
crash
in the hall. A deep roar followed, twice as loud as before. Heat rolled in through the open door, baking my ankles.

      I wanted to peek out, see what was happening, but I wasn’t sure where Wolfgang was.

      The fire snarled louder, angrier, closer. The door apparently was no longer a barrier. Flames now blocked me from the staircase.

      With a fresh coat of sweat lacquering my skin, I shut the door and turned the key in the lock, sealing my own tomb.

      I flicked on the overhead light, not sure if it would even work, anymore, and lucked out. Across the room were two windows. If memory served me right, one faced the side yard, the other the street. I tried the street window first, expecting to find boards. Sure enough, Wolfgang had made sure I couldn’t jump out. I tugged at the two-by-fours, my eyes blurring, and cursed under my breath.

      At the second window, he hadn’t been as meticulous and left wider gaps between the boards. I braced my foot against the wall and yanked, crying out when one of the boards near the bottom creaked and gave a little. A bent nail only half-buried in the sill was its Achilles' heel.

      Scanning the room, I zeroed in on the skinny torso of a brass lamp on the dresser next to the door. The cord, plugged in behind the dresser, came free on the second jerk.

      Back at the window, lamp in hand sans the shade, I popped the board free of the sill, letting it swing to the floor. The window pane was no challenge for the brass base of the lamp. The shattering glass made my heart flutter with hope.

      I kneeled next to the six-inch tall strip of freedom, inhaling sweet, fresh, Black Hills air, and listened for the sound of fire engines over the jackhammer in my ears. However, the sizzles and hisses from across the hall drowned out anything else, and the gap was too narrow to slip my head through.

      Back on my feet, I leveraged the lamp behind another board.

      A loud screech came from the other side of the door.

      I whipped around.

      The wood panel seemed to shudder, the door knob turning, and then there was a click and the door popped open.

      I grabbed the lamp and held it out in front of me like a light saber.

      The door swung wide and Wolfgang stepped into the room, a crowbar in his hand, his hair and shirt smoking. His toothy smile scared the breath out of my lungs.

      “Hello, darling.” He closed the door and leaned against it. “I’ve been looking for you.”

      A mewling whine crawled out of my throat. I tightened my grip on the lamp.

      “That was very clever of you, locking all the doors, hiding in my bedroom.”

      He laid his crowbar on top of the dresser and grabbed the four-drawer cabinet by the edges. The feet scraped over the wood floor as he pulled it in front of the door, blocking me in.

      I backed around the bed, putting it between us.

      “But I’m tired of playing games now.”

      He picked up the crowbar and walked toward me as his smile slid from his face. His nostrils flaring, he rounded the end of the bed. I dove across the pillows and rolled over the duvet. My feet touched the floor on the other side at the same time he caught me by the hair. With one hard tug, he hauled me back onto the bed. He raised the crowbar over my face; I screamed and wrenched my body to the side as it came down. It thumped onto the duvet, just missing my ear.

      His grip still tearing my hair, he raised the crowbar again. Then I remembered the lamp in my hand. I swung up as he brought the bar down. Brass clanked against steel, knocking the crowbar sideways, burying the hooked end into the bed again.

      Before he could take another shot at my skull, I turned and smashed the lamp down on his crowbar wrist.

      He howled and let go of my hair, clutching his wrist.

      I spun away, falling off the other side of the bed onto the floor, dragging the duvet with me—my zipper caught. I tore free of the duvet’s hold and scrambled to my feet.

      Wolfgang ran around the end of the bed. He charged me, an angry cry contorting his face.

      I raised the lamp, wincing, anticipating his blow.

      As his feet came down on the duvet, he skidded sideways, landing on his back. “Oof!”

      I heaved the lamp like a sledgehammer. The brass base smashed into his forehead with a sickening
thunk
.

      I hoisted the lamp again, ready to strike.

      Wolfgang’s eyes rolled up into his head, his mouth gaped, and the crowbar clattered onto the floor as his grip slackened.

      I fell back against the wall, my body shaking so much I almost dropped the lamp. A crash from the other side of the door reminded me that I wasn’t free to skip on home yet. Smoke poured into the room from under the door.

      Giving Wolfgang a wide berth, I dashed to the dresser that blocked the door, heaved it aside, and hopped about on the wood floor now sizzling under my bare feet. The door knob was probably searing, but thanks to Wolfgang’s crowbar work on the jamb, I didn’t need to touch it.

      Using my fingertips, I inched open the door. Flames crammed the hallway, slathering the walls, blackening the ceiling. Heat blasted my hair back, scorching my face and chest.

      I was so screwed.

      I closed the door and shoved the dresser back in front of it. After a quick check on Wolfgang to confirm that the beast still slept, I crept to him and grabbed the crowbar. The window was my only shot. Just one more board and I could fall to freedom.

      Wrestling the board, my sweat-and-blood-slick hands lost hold of the crowbar, which clattered to the floor just missing my toes. I wiped my hands on the bed sheets and returned to the window. This board fought me, its nails buried deep; but I refused to give up and one side of the board splintered free.

      I whooped in victory.

      “Violet!”

      I screamed and turned. Wolfgang was still sprawled on the floor, his eyes still closed.

      The dresser scraped across the floor a couple of inches. The door banged against it.

      “Violet, move the damned dresser!” Doc yelled through the crack in the door.

      I raced over and shouldered the dresser aside.

      He stumbled into the room, wrapped in the gray plaid blanket from his car. He lowered the cover, his face streaked with soot and sweat. After a glance at Wolfgang, he frowned at me. “Are you okay?”

      “I’ve been better.”

      “You don’t look so hot.”

      Well, I hadn’t had time to freshen up, yet. “Give me ten more minutes and I’ll be smoking.”

      His eyes narrowed. “Didn’t I warn you about this house?”

      “Oh, shut up!” I noticed the red canister in his hands. A fire extinguisher. I planted my hands on my hips. “Are you here to rescue me or lecture me? Because if it’s the latter, I’m jumping out the window.”

      He grinned and lifted the cover. “Get under here, smartass.”

      I hesitated, my gaze bouncing between him and the window.

      “What?” he asked.

      “I don’t have any shoes.” I’d sooner free-fall than dance across hot coals.

      A crash boomed over our heads.

      Wincing, I stared up at the ceiling, which creaked and groaned. A fracture appeared near the interior wall and streaked toward the front of the house, plaster raining down in its wake.

      “That can’t be good,” Doc said.

      Another bang resounded from above; I flinched and ducked. A flaming beam busted through the ceiling, dividing the room in half, Wolfgang on the other side.

      Doc tugged on my arm. “Get on my back.”

      He didn’t have to tell me twice. I hiked up my dress and climbed on, wrapping my arms around his neck.

      “I need to breathe, Violet.”

      Oops. Loosening my hold, I helped pull the plaid cover— wet, warm, and heavy—around my shoulders and over my head.

      “Ready?” Doc yelled over the snarling flames.

      “Let’s go!” I tried not to choke him as he opened the door, stepped into the inferno, and sprayed a path through the flames.

      The blanket did little to shield the heat. By the time we reached the stairs, I thought my skin was going to melt off my shoulder blades and leave a sticky trail. The stench of smoke and burnt plastic made me cough, my throat scalded by the acrid air.

      Doc paused at the top of the stairs, then threw the fire extinguisher aside.

      “What are you doing?” I cried.

      “It’s empty,” he shouted back. “Hold on tight. The staircase is about to collapse.”

      I dug my fingers into his shoulders, squeezed his hips between my thighs, and buried my face in his neck. There was no way he’d lose me. Shaking off a tick would be easier.

      He grabbed me behind the knees and started down what was left of the stairs. I snuck a quick look over his shoulder halfway down and nearly screamed. Flames surrounded us, eating the wood banister, licking the walls, gobbling up the ceiling. Down below, past the flames, the front door stood wide open. Darkness beckoned from beyond.

      An explosion rumbled behind us, rattling the house. The staircase groaned and tipped. Doc stumbled, his shoulder bumping into a flaming wall. I cringed and yanked my hand away, waiting for the wood underfoot to give way and take us down with it.

      A growl reverberated through Doc. He shrugged me higher on his back, then flew down the remaining steps two at a time and shot through the entry. He didn’t stop until we’d reached the front gate. He tore off the steaming blanket and I dropped to the dry grass, coughing and gagging, gasping for oxygen. Doc bent over me, sucking in fresh air.

      When I found my voice, I said, “Wolfgang is still up there.”

      A crash rang out through the open front door. We both stared into the inferno.

      “That was the staircase.” Doc kneeled next to me. “I can’t get to him.”

      I rolled onto my back and gazed up at the stars. Sirens wailed in the distance.

      The image of Wolfgang lying on the floor haunted me. Would he feel the pain as the flames devoured him? Would I hear his screams of agony through the broken window? Or would he suffocate before the fire reached him?

      Why did I care after all he’d done to me? To those poor little girls? To this town?

      “Violet.” Doc leaned over me and brushed back my hair. His fingers trailed across my forehead, down my cheekbones, over my lips. His dark gaze held me captive. “I—”

      “Here comes the cavalry!” Harvey crowed from the sidewalk. The front gate shrieked open.

      Doc snatched his hand back and sat up. Whatever he’d been about to say was his secret now.

      “Hey, Harvey,” my voice croaked as I spoke, my vocal chords like brittle taffy. I tried to wave at him as he approached, but my hand was trembling too much.